Hog on the Run
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Upperclass Tupperware
I swear the '80s are coming back to haunt me.
You remember tupperware? My mum was a demon for it. Every dish cooked in our house involved at least one tupperware container for putting leftovers in, you know, the tiny amounts of food that you then transfer to the fridge so that they can fester in peace? And there were other "useful" items: a plastic mat with numbered circles on it for rolling out pastry to the correct diameter for your pie dish, acres of muffin tins (various sizes from large down to pointless), a strange white plastic tube-shaped thing that may, or may not, have been some sort of space age corkscrew, and a yoghurt maker that was sometimes used to incubate eggs.
At one point I remember we had an automatic potato peeler, which consisted of an industrial strength dish attached to a vicious motor, lined with skin flaying sandpaper. You added potatoes and a bit of water to stop the apparatus from catching aflame and switched it on. It made a noise which suggested Heathrow Airport had upped sticks and settled in our kitchen. The tubers exited displaying a slightly terrified air, with little bits of skin still clinging desperately to the outside. They looked like torture victims, that's all I'm saying.
But I digress. Back to retro cookware.
Last night I was forced pleased to attend a Pampered Chef "Party". The basic premise is an Anne Summers party without the kink. Or the risque lingerie (although, who knows what the hostess had on under her demure blouse 'n skirt combo?) You sit, presumably in a rapture of consumerism, while a flustered housewife demonstrates overpriced cooking utensils. The best seller is a sort of stone ware plinth thing which normal people use for cooking pizza on.
Voila. Only £19.95!
The hostess suggested that you spend 30 minutes chopping (with their chopping thingy of course: £24.50!) various foodstuffs including chicken and mayonnaise and mild chilli sauce in order to concoct something fabulous.
"Big Chopper" hur hur hur. Sidekick got all excited when he realised it used some sort of cam arrangement to turn the blade. Only deranged housewives and engineers could get a kick out this shit, I swear.
The gorgeous end result *nausea*
High Points:
- Sniggering helplessly with like-minded friend over comments like, "of course you make all your own pastry from scratch". Yeah right.
- Hostess lady getting confused and asking for prompts from her more experienced colleague in the audience. "These knives are dishwasher proof!" colleague: "No, they're not".
- Man in front of us making involuntary grunting noises.
- And finally, someone let rip a truly foul smelling fart. Everyone in the audience was looking at each other in a "Bloody hell. Was that you? 'Cos it wasn't me" way.
Did I mention that my social life is dead? Dead, I tell you, dead.
:: gibbered Okapi, at 6:39 pm
2 Comments:
Guess what the trendy new thing is in Norway?
Tupperware parties. I have been invited to 4 of the damn things.
Yeah., they are a little behind the times here.
And you SO farted...you know that was you. Evil, evil, I tell you. You pollute the air with your foul godlessness.
You could go to the Tupperware parties and report back from the other side. Maybe it's more advanced than it was when I was a girl.
And that fart was not me, I absolutely swear. Nothing that heinous could come from me. On that particular day, at least.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Upperclass Tupperware
I swear the '80s are coming back to haunt me.
You remember tupperware? My mum was a demon for it. Every dish cooked in our house involved at least one tupperware container for putting leftovers in, you know, the tiny amounts of food that you then transfer to the fridge so that they can fester in peace? And there were other "useful" items: a plastic mat with numbered circles on it for rolling out pastry to the correct diameter for your pie dish, acres of muffin tins (various sizes from large down to pointless), a strange white plastic tube-shaped thing that may, or may not, have been some sort of space age corkscrew, and a yoghurt maker that was sometimes used to incubate eggs.
At one point I remember we had an automatic potato peeler, which consisted of an industrial strength dish attached to a vicious motor, lined with skin flaying sandpaper. You added potatoes and a bit of water to stop the apparatus from catching aflame and switched it on. It made a noise which suggested Heathrow Airport had upped sticks and settled in our kitchen. The tubers exited displaying a slightly terrified air, with little bits of skin still clinging desperately to the outside. They looked like torture victims, that's all I'm saying.
But I digress. Back to retro cookware.
Last night I wasforced pleased to attend a Pampered Chef "Party". The basic premise is an Anne Summers party without the kink. Or the risque lingerie (although, who knows what the hostess had on under her demure blouse 'n skirt combo?) You sit, presumably in a rapture of consumerism, while a flustered housewife demonstrates overpriced cooking utensils. The best seller is a sort of stone ware plinth thing which normal people use for cooking pizza on.
Voila. Only £19.95!
The hostess suggested that you spend 30 minutes chopping (with their chopping thingy of course: £24.50!) various foodstuffs including chicken and mayonnaise and mild chilli sauce in order to concoct something fabulous.
"Big Chopper" hur hur hur. Sidekick got all excited when he realised it used some sort of cam arrangement to turn the blade. Only deranged housewives and engineers could get a kick out this shit, I swear.
The gorgeous end result *nausea*
High Points:
Did I mention that my social life is dead? Dead, I tell you, dead.
You remember tupperware? My mum was a demon for it. Every dish cooked in our house involved at least one tupperware container for putting leftovers in, you know, the tiny amounts of food that you then transfer to the fridge so that they can fester in peace? And there were other "useful" items: a plastic mat with numbered circles on it for rolling out pastry to the correct diameter for your pie dish, acres of muffin tins (various sizes from large down to pointless), a strange white plastic tube-shaped thing that may, or may not, have been some sort of space age corkscrew, and a yoghurt maker that was sometimes used to incubate eggs.
At one point I remember we had an automatic potato peeler, which consisted of an industrial strength dish attached to a vicious motor, lined with skin flaying sandpaper. You added potatoes and a bit of water to stop the apparatus from catching aflame and switched it on. It made a noise which suggested Heathrow Airport had upped sticks and settled in our kitchen. The tubers exited displaying a slightly terrified air, with little bits of skin still clinging desperately to the outside. They looked like torture victims, that's all I'm saying.
But I digress. Back to retro cookware.
Last night I was
Voila. Only £19.95!
The hostess suggested that you spend 30 minutes chopping (with their chopping thingy of course: £24.50!) various foodstuffs including chicken and mayonnaise and mild chilli sauce in order to concoct something fabulous.
"Big Chopper" hur hur hur. Sidekick got all excited when he realised it used some sort of cam arrangement to turn the blade. Only deranged housewives and engineers could get a kick out this shit, I swear.
The gorgeous end result *nausea*
High Points:
- Sniggering helplessly with like-minded friend over comments like, "of course you make all your own pastry from scratch". Yeah right.
- Hostess lady getting confused and asking for prompts from her more experienced colleague in the audience. "These knives are dishwasher proof!" colleague: "No, they're not".
- Man in front of us making involuntary grunting noises.
- And finally, someone let rip a truly foul smelling fart. Everyone in the audience was looking at each other in a "Bloody hell. Was that you? 'Cos it wasn't me" way.
Did I mention that my social life is dead? Dead, I tell you, dead.
:: gibbered Okapi, at 6:39 pm
2 Comments:
Guess what the trendy new thing is in Norway?
Tupperware parties. I have been invited to 4 of the damn things.
Yeah., they are a little behind the times here.
And you SO farted...you know that was you. Evil, evil, I tell you. You pollute the air with your foul godlessness.
Tupperware parties. I have been invited to 4 of the damn things.
Yeah., they are a little behind the times here.
And you SO farted...you know that was you. Evil, evil, I tell you. You pollute the air with your foul godlessness.
You could go to the Tupperware parties and report back from the other side. Maybe it's more advanced than it was when I was a girl.
And that fart was not me, I absolutely swear. Nothing that heinous could come from me. On that particular day, at least.
And that fart was not me, I absolutely swear. Nothing that heinous could come from me. On that particular day, at least.
